


fratres ab aeternitate

by figtreemetaphor (annegirlblythe)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Coming Out, Feel-good, Gansey Is The Sweetest, Gen, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Post-The Dream Thieves, Ronan Loves and Is Loved, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annegirlblythe/pseuds/figtreemetaphor
Summary: Ronan has a secret. Gansey is a good guesser."It was almost out. As soon as it was out, they could talk about it and Gansey would either grant him continued unconditional love, or ask him to leave Monmouth, at least he’d know. This was worse than telling him the dream things, worse than admitting to dark nights racing around town in the BMW, worse even than admitting to wrecking the Pig, so much worse. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t get the words out."
Relationships: Richard Gansey III & Ronan Lynch, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 10
Kudos: 178





	fratres ab aeternitate

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Latin for "brothers in eternity." 
> 
> Takes place directly after the final events of the Dream Thieves.

Maura’s disappearance had put a dull, quiet, dreadful edge to the events of the past twenty four hours. While Gansey might otherwise have been invigorated, might otherwise have led an immediate exploration of the newly repaired ley line, he had instead asked Ronan and Adam to stay at Monmouth. He must have been able to tell that all Ronan wanted to do in wake of Blue’s mother disappearing was head directly back to Cabeswater to spend more time with his own, because he seemed to be asking an equal favor from both of his friends. 

He asked as if he knew how much it would cost both of them, which of course was why they had both agreed.

They hadn’t talked much, although Adam had haltingly explained, in what little earthly language he had available about his relationship with Cabeswater, what he had learned to do that day. Gansey, subdued, had asked fewer questions than Ronan had thought him capable of. They’d shared a six pack of beer between the three of them, each lost in their own thoughts for much of the night. 

Now, it was nearing midnight. Adam was asleep on the Monmouth sofa, exhausted and dead to the world. His arm was draped over his face, obscuring his features, but his bony chest rose and fell with his breaths. It gave Ronan a sort of unholy thrill that wouldn’t leave the back of his throat that Adam had accepted the loan of Ronan’s thin white tank top for the night. 

The silence between Ronan and Gansey was comfortable, easy. Gansey was carefully drawing Kavinsky’s dragon from memory into his leather journal. He was not an artist, per se, but he was very precise and it amounted to the same thing. He looked unguarded, on the floor of Monmouth with his back against his bed. This was not “President Cellphone” Gansey (Ronan thanks Blue for the moniker), nor the desperate searching Gansey who belonged to Glendower, nor the wild Gansey who had thrown the Molotov cocktail at the substance party. He was just cataloging the day, trying to make sense of it all. Ronan could smell both mint and sweat on him, even from where he was sitting a few feet away by the windowsill. 

The events of the day played rapid-fire in Ronan’s mind, but he kept landing on the last conversation he’d had with Kavinsky, when something very near a _confession_ had been drawn from him. It was all wrong - how could he say something like that in a dream world when he couldn’t say it in his own home, in the place he loved the most, in the place that loved him the most? 

All of a sudden, there was something very real in Ronan’s body, something not dreamlike or even born of Lynch intuition, just a rightness of the moment that implored, _Now. Now. It has to be now._ Ronan’s stomach flipped into a nauseous freefall, but after everything that had passed between him and Gansey, and all that was still to come, he knew the feeling was right. 

He steeled himself, not rehearsing in his head, just charging forward. His entire body felt hot and melty, but he didn’t let his voice shake as he said, “Dick?” 

Gansey looked up, still unguarded. He had not chosen an affect; he had no idea what Ronan was about to say. When Ronan didn’t continue, he raised his eyebrows, said, “Yes?” 

“I gotta tell you something, man.” 

It was almost out. As soon as it was out, they could talk about it and Gansey would either grant him continued unconditional love, or ask him to leave Monmouth, at least he’d _know._ This was worse than telling him the dream things, worse than admitting to dark nights racing around town in the BMW, worse even than admitting to wrecking the Pig, so much worse. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t get the words out. He desperately wanted to be swallowed up by - 

“Ronan?” 

He’d been silent too long, and Gansey was looking at him like he was something volatile that might explode, and he couldn’t say it. He shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, low in his throat. “Never mind. I’m gonna go - gonna go dream some mice for Chainsaw or something. Just - uh. Goodnight.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey said softly, and Ronan felt himself sit back down. He didn’t listen to anyone, but he listened when Gansey talked to him like that. 

“I can’t say it,” he said, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. 

“Maybe I can guess,” Gansey suggested. Ronan didn’t know if that made him feel lighter or more volatile, somehow. Gansey was a good guesser. “Is about the dreams?” 

“No.” 

“Cabeswater?” 

“Jesus Christ, Dick, you have a one track mind, you know that?” 

“Is it about Matthew? Declan?” 

“No. Fuck.” 

“You can say it, whatever it is.” He’s earnest, heartbreakingly so, although his next sentence comes out wry. “What else is there, besides you pull things from your dreams and you wrecked my car?” 

After a few minutes of silence, during which Gansey radiates an obnoxious amount of empathy and Ronan plays fetch with Chainsaw and a green ballpoint pen, Gansey says something entirely unexpected.

“If it’s what I think it is, Calla already told me.” 

“Wha _t_?” Ronan hits the word too hard. He feels like he’s on fire, like all his organs have deliquesced into a nauseous soup, smouldering inside him. _How in the -_

“She knew, right away. From that first reading at Fox Way. And then Orla said something, after the boat, I’m not sure if you caught it.” 

“Oh.” 

“I’m not upset. I figured you would tell me when you were ready.” 

Silence. Ronan glances around for something to vomit into, just in case. The only container in reach is a potted plant. He hopes it doesn’t come to it. 

“You’re my brother, Ronan. Whatever happens.”

Ronan nods, feeling the urge to hit something. He doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that _Gansey has known for weeks._ He doesn’t look up - he won’t be able to take that green empathetic gaze. He’ll run, first. He’ll get in the BMW and take off before he lets Gansey look at him like that. 

They’re quiet for a few more minutes. Chainsaw seems to know that it’s taking all Ronan’s energy not to actively shake with all he’s feeling, and she rubs her soft head against his knuckles. 

Gansey looks at his drawing, then back up at Ronan. _“_ Can I ask you something?” 

“I won’t be able to stop you, will I?” _Please don’t ask about Adam, please don’t ask about Adam, please Gansey, if you’ve ever loved me at at all, don’t ask about Adam._

“You ever have a thing with Kavinsky?” 

Ronan laughs, sick with relief. “Fuck no! Are you kidding me? _Fucking Kavinsky?”_ His body is returning to a somewhat human temperature and liquidity. His nausea is fading, too, slowly, though he’s still buzzing a little bit. _Gansey knows, and he doesn’t care. Gansey **knows.**_

 _“_ Hey, I was just asking! He’s awfully all over you. Didn’t know if you wanted it that way.” 

“Asshole,” Ronan accuses, and throws the green pen at him. Gansey picks it up and holds it out to Chainsaw, the stretch of his arm regal and generous. She hops forward to take it and pecks his hand lightly as she does, looking pleased when this makes him laugh. She is of Ronan, made of his matter, and therefore it is a fact of her existence that she loves Gansey. She breathes, she eats, she shits, and she loves Gansey. 

Ronan’s second secret is no longer such a secret. There’s still the Adam element, of course, but that’s another conversation for another, long distant, day. For now, Ronan stands, and heads for his bedroom. As he passes, he taps the top of Gansey’s head with his fingertips, and says, “Night, Dick.” 

“Goodnight, Lynch. Thanks for telling me.” 

_I didn’t, really,_ Ronan thinks, but it’s a technicality and they both know it. He had let himself be seen, really seen, for the first time in a long while. And while Henrietta might have been getting more and more dangerous and would get a lot worse before it got better, there was something incrementally _safer_ about life at Monmouth Manufacturing. 


End file.
